


when the clock strikes

by orphan_account



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Crack Pairing, F/M, Somnophilia, references to past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 09:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18312653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He only appears in her dreams, but her reality's starting to blur, and now she can't tell what's real anymore.





	when the clock strikes

Naminé always wonders if all of this is a dream.

Like, it _has_ to be, right? What else would explain the claws and tendrils slinking underneath her bed? Or the bright, bright eyes and sharp, _sharp_ teeth gleaming from her wardrobe, if she leaves it open wide enough? Or the buzzing in the air, but not quite like a hum nor whisper, instead full of static? Such things could’ve _only_ been conjured up if she were dreaming or had sleep paralysis.

_C’mon, Nams, you’re not a child anymore. This ain’t no fairy tale, just a figment of your fucked-up imagination._

Yes, that’s right, it can’t be real. Even when she can hear low growls in her ears, feel the drag of claws and teeth across her sides, see those bright ( _glowing_ ) eyes stare back at her. None of it, not _any_ of it’s real, even when slobber runs down her legs, and gets close ( _fartooclose_ ) to her groin, and—

Like always, she’ll wake up with a gasp, and see that her clock reads 5 a.m. Yes, there may be light scratches on her waist, and her legs may be quivering and dripping with slick, _but it’s all ‘cause of a nightmare, get it together, Nams._

There's something different about these nightmares, though. The creature would usually be more oppressive, with an icy gaze and rose-petal hands that stung more than a thorn— _"don't think I won't_ **_break_ ** _your legs if you defy me again,_ **_princess_** _."_

She knows they’re just dreams ( _are they?_ ), and yet… she can’t help actually _wanting_ everything to be real ( _what if, though?_ ). Whether it’s due to her trauma, or just a reaction to her loneliness— _whatever reason her fucked-up mind conjured up_ —Naminé wants it to come to life, _desperately so._ She wants it _bad_ , wants the monster under her bed or in her closet ( _anything_ ) to come, and ravage her to no end— wants to actually feel his dick pulse inside her, _make her scream and thrash and come, make her feel full and see stars, pleasepleasepleasejustkeepfuckingme_ ** _p l e a s e_** _._

( _Pretty fucked-up, right?_ )

There were times in the ( _really-real_ ) dreams where Naminé fully _faced_ the closet-or-bed monster. He appears like a grown man— tall and fair and graceful, with flowing, silver locks ( _not poisonous-pink_ ) and narrow eyes aglow ( _not bloody blue_ ). Shadows drip from him like water on skin, and on his right side extends a single and large, black wing ( _just like an angel fallen from heaven_ ).

She’d watch him loom over her like a dark fog, and run his claws under her nightgown. He’d start teasing her relentlessly with a light graze over her lips, splitting and rubbing them until she’s moist. With her legs spread out, there’d be a cry after he takes her without any warning. The blonde would pant and squirm, her cunt full of slick— _god, he makes her feel so full yet loose, always goes so deep inside her._

_"there, angel, right there, please don't stop, don't leave me, i'myoursi'myoursi'myours **i'myours—** "_

If Naminé looks up to Angel’s ( _an oxymoron, really_ ) gaunt face, perhaps she could see him leer at her. His long tongue dangling out, there’d be slobber painted across her jiggling breasts. _“little human,”_ a hiss against her skin, teeth ready to sink into where said human's beating heart lies. _“oh, fragile one, let me savor your sweetness…”_

He doesn't even need permission, because she'd already let him— _keep taking me, angel, you're so good to me_ —wherever, whenever. So he'll rut into the girl still, twisting her into all kinds of positions, until she's begging for release.

But when she comes, Angel never bothers to remove himself. He'd keep fucking into her, and her pussy would squelch and remain quivering around his length, _"oh, oh angel! too much, it's too—_ **_angel!_** _"_ and Naminé'll reach her end again— a third, fourth, _fifth_ time, _"angel,_ **_please!_** _"_

Then all of a sudden, indigo eyes would pop open to find morning sunlight and her clock reading 5 a.m. Her nightgown would fit her properly, now, with the covers tucked up to her chin. She’d be alone, the only noise in the room being the ceiling fan whirring from above her.

“A dream?” Naminé would murmur to herself, trying to ignore her disappointment ( _and need still tingling between her legs_ ) every time this happens. "Huh… of course it'd only be a dream…"

( _Oh, if only the little human knew. The marks on her body, black feathers gathered at her feet— the stench of sin lingering in the air. If only she knew that no matter where she is, her angel's watching over her always— always waiting for nighttime to come, so that once more, he'll get to touch her all over again._

_And he knows that, no matter what, she'll_ **_love_ ** _and_ **_beg_ ** _to have more of it._ )


End file.
